A New Kind of Case
by OrangeZest100
Summary: The Criminal Minds teams are assigned the Sylar case.  Rated M for my paranoia.
1. Chapter 1: Others

**AN:** Anyone who has watched _Heroes_ and _Criminal Minds_, should have thought of the _Criminal Minds_ team going after Sylar. This is my attempt at that fic.

Chapter 1

Others

Today, almost every law enforcement officer in the United States got a new case. The Behavioral Analysis Unit was put in charge. It was a serial killer, one that had crimes spanning the country, victimology all over the hypothetical map. They had only one name for him: Sylar.

Garcia watched as a couple of agents brought in the case files, carrying them past her work station to the meeting room. They had already started a board, pictures of eight victims were already up and more were coming. The map was quickly gaining push-pins. Garcia turned away, closing her door, to afraid to face the horrors of that man. She sat down, happy to face her beloved computer screens. Asking the left most harddrive, she brought up Google. She quickly typed S-Y-L-A-R. Three hundred sixty thousand hits. Quickly closing the window, Garcia sat back. A real sicko this one. She new her team dealt with a lot of bad people, but this was a whole new level. Still, the name sounded familiar.

Reaching her mind out to her phone, Garcia called the now familiar number. After three rings, someone answered.

"Hello?" Garcia calmed a little at the voice.

"Peter, it's Garcia."

"Penelope!" He sounded happy. "Hang on a second; I'm going to put you on speaker phone. I'm here with Mohinder."

"Dr. Suresh?"

"That's the one." He sounded like he was laughing.

"Hello?" The voice was new to her.

"Hi. Penelope Garcia."

"Mohinder Suresh." A pause. "What's your power?"

"Technopath. Yours?" her heartbeat increased slightly.

"Super strength." An uncomfortable silence fell. Peter cleared his throat.

"Well, Penelope, what have you called for?" Garcia paused, unsure of what to reveal.

"We got a new case today, and the name sounded familiar. I was wondering if you've heard of him."

"Shoot." Mouth suddenly dry, Garcia swallowed.

"Sylar." You could almost hear the tension on the other line.

"Miss Garcia," said Mohinder, voice tentative. "I believe we need to tell you something."

Morgan pinned up another picture to the board. This unsub seemed to have it all: telekinesis, freezing, induced radioactivity, alchemy, and probably more that Morgan couldn't have anyway of knowing. Sighing, he looked back at the case file he was analyzing. Then his phone rang. Excusing himself, he stepped outside the room, and answered it. "Morgan."

"You able to talk freely?"

"That's absolutely ridiculous." Morgan was careful to keep his face impassive incase anyone was watching.

"No? Then I'll just talk, and you'll listen."

"Sounds good to me man."

"The Company needs Sylar. Your orders are to prevent the FBI's capture of him, by any means necessary."

"Noah!" Morgan made sure it sounded normal, hiding his rage.

"Just make sure the Company gets him first Derek. We don't want any slip ups. This man is a critical key. Got that?"

"Okay."

"Rendezvous tomorrow. Same time, same place." The line went dead. Morgan shut his cell phone and walked back into the meeting room, laughing at Pretiss' jokes about his sexuality. He continued analyzing the case, apparently oblivious to the phone call he had just received.

"JJ!" Prentiss hugged her blonde friend, happy to see her for the first time in months. "How have you been?"

"Good." JJ gave Prentiss another hug.

"What are you doing here?"

"Apparently, someone thought you guys could use all the help you could get." There was a polite cough from behind Emily. Prentiss turned around to see Ashley Seaver standing behind her.

"Oh, right, sorry." Prentiss stepped away so that JJ and Seaver could clearly see each other. "JJ, this is Ashley Seaver. Seaver, this is Jennifer Jareau." They shook hands, Seaver clearly feeling uncomfortable. Prentiss brushed it off. It shouldn't affect the future that much. They all sat down, analyzing the files of Sylar's sins. They had been at it for hours when Hotchner finally spoke up.

"Everyone go home. We'll get a fresh start in the morning."

Prentiss returned to her apartment, happy to no longer be looking at dead bodies. Especially when one of them was Isaac's. She walked into her living room, collapsing on a chair. Carefully, she picked up the picture frame resting on the side table. It was from two years ago; Simone had taken it. She was laughing, something Isaac had said had made her laugh. It had been taken in Isaac's loft, when he had been helping her learn how to draw. Right after that picture had been taken, all three of them had gotten into a paint fight, collapsing on the ground in hysterical laughter. Prentiss wiped away a tear. They were both dead now, and she had a chance to get justice for one of them.

Sighing, Prentiss put the picture back and picked up her sketchbook and pencil. Closing her eyes, she centered her mind. When her eyes opened again, they were white. She drew for a couple of hours. When she was done, she blinked, her eyes returning to normal. Prentiss studied her drawings, to used to their horrible messages to be affected much, though they were different than the usual fair. Sighing, she turned off the light and went to bed. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

Reid shifted on his couch. Reaching out his hand, his coffee slid across the table to rest in his palm comfortably. He sighed, retting down one of the Sylar files to take a drink of coffee. He hated narcotics for inhibiting his thought process, but coffee kept him awake so that he could think for a longer period of time. He had always known that there was a high probability of others existing, but he hadn't managed to find any yet, to his knowledge. Then, to learn of them through this man. Reid sighed again.

There was a knock on the door. Reid got up and approached the door, simultaneously checking his gun and getting a knife from his kitchen. Keeping the gun in its holster and using his mind to keep the knife suspended behind his back, Reid opened the door. No point in letting this Sylar catch him unawares.

"Doctor?" Reid relaxed. It was simply his elderly neighbor.

"Yes Mrs. Stein?" She looked sad, not surprising considering her 102 years of age.

"I'm sorry to bother you this late, dear, but could you let me have a cup of sugar?" She squinted up at him and held out her shaking hand, which was currently clenched around a measuring cup.

"You're cooking again?" Abigail Stein gave him a small smile.

"You know it helps me deal with my stress dear. Besides," she winked, "I won't live forever now will I."

"I'll go get your sugar Mrs. Stein."

"How many times have I told you to call me Abigail?" He shut the door quietly and walked to his kitchen. Returning the knife, Reid filled his neighbors measuring cup with sugar. She really needed to stop baking in the middle of the night. Though, since her friend and roommate, Janice, passed, she didn't really have anything to do. She was just…lonely. Returning to is doorway, Reid handed her her measuring cup, now full of sugar.

"You know Mrs. Stein," she gave him a look. "Abigail if ever want to talk, you just have to knock." She smiled.

"I know dear. Thank you." Patting his hand, she started shuffling down the hall. After a few steps, she turned. "You should really get some sleep. It is midnight you know." Letting out a small laugh, Reid shut the door. He walked back to his couch and looked down at his coffee table, littered with case files, his coffee standing out in the piles of paper. Realizing she was right, Reid turned off the lights and went to bed.

**AN:** This could be my longest chapter for anything yet. I'll try to write this one as regularly as I can.


	2. Chapter 2: Maniacal Doomed

**AN: ** The second chapter of this. Sorry this starts slow.

Chapter 2

Maniacal Doomed

Darkness, then a pinprick of light. The street light grew brighter as he approached it. The alley was deserted, the street nearly so, silence pervading the area. The building two to his left, fifth floor, deep left apartment, accessible through fire escape. He knew it like a mantra, and he had only learned it this morning. Omnilinguilism would be VERY helpful…But he had to wait. He had caught the eye of the FBI, and killing one of the teams next door neighbors might not be a good idea.

Hunching his back against a late night chill he didn't feel, Sylar walked down the street. A flash from the side of his vision caught his attention. He turned. The sign about the shop said "Frankfurt & Sons". Looking through the glass, a part of him froze. The shop was filled with timepieces. The part that was Gaberiel demanded entrance, the comfort of a familiar pastime. All the lights were on, suggesting that the owner was still inside, although a sign clearly stated they were closed. Sylar pushed at the door cautiously. It opened with a tinkle. They didn't even lock the door. Fools.

He entered, acutely aware of the ticking of second hands, the grinding of gears. He frowned. The clocks were off, all of them. Sylar ran his hand along the length of a grandfather clock, feeling the grain of the wood, learning its' secrets.

"Excuse me," the voice was indignant. "We're closed." Sylar turned. The man was short and thin; a man of obvious cleverness and little to no physical skill. As he watched the boy (for he was a boy, really) pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his brown hair.

"Forgive me, sir. I was merely reminiscing." Sylar looked everywhere but at this Frankfurt, making the small man uncomfortable.

"Well, if you will just leave." The boy smiled, trying to seem friendly. Sylar ignored him.

"You see, I used to work in a shop like this, repairing timepieces." Gaberiel gave a small, sad smile. "It seems so long ago now."

"I'm sorry sir, but you really need to leave." Frankfurt was clearly agitated, and Gaberiel could hear his heart beat a little faster.

"They're all off you know, the clocks." Gaberiel's gaze rested on a carved coocoo clock.

"Excuse me?"

"Your timepieces are off."

"Get out. Now." And now Gaberiel looked at Frankfurt. The man's face was red with rage. Gaberiel was entreating upon his territory and disrespecting his profession. Frankfurt wanted him gone, or he wanted him dead. Gaberiel smiled again and moved past him toward the door. He heard a click behind him and turned. Frankfurt had a gun pointed at his head.

Sylar laughed. It was not a laugh of mirth or even nervousness; it was a laugh of the maniacal doomed; a laugh for the insane and lonely. Frankfurt blinked, gun starting to shake slightly as Sylar raised his head toward the ceiling, the laugh reverberating off every surface.

"I-I said get out of my shop." Sylar stopped laughing and looked at the little man, head tilted sideways, gaze predatory. Caution was forgotten. Sylar knocked the gun out of Frankfurt's hand, grabbed him by the throat and pushed the man backwards until he was pinned against the grandfather clock Sylar had been admiring earlier. Sylar smiled at the terror stricken face before him.

"You can't defeat me." To illustrate his point, he picked the gun up off the floor and shot the man's clocks. All of them that he could. When he was done, he threw the gun farther into the shop and dropped the boy. He left. Sylar felt quite cheery.

**AN:** I like messing with people's heads, apparently. Hope you liked it.


End file.
